Rhapsody in Eight Movements
by LuxKen27
Summary: AU. When a mysterious man washes ashore on Halloween night, it becomes a race against time to uncover his identity – and the circumstances that left him there.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Rhapsody in Eight Movements

**Author:** LuxKen27

**Universe:** Alternate (modern day Japan)

**Genre**: Mystery, Suspense

**Rating:** T

**Warning(s): ** Mentions of death, the treatment of mental illnesses

**Summary:** When a mysterious man washes ashore on Halloween night, it becomes a race against time to uncover his identity – and the circumstances that left him there.

**DISCLAIMER: **The _Inuyasha_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1996-2008 Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan/Viz Media. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Further author's notes can be found at my Dreamwidth and/or LiveJournal.

* * *

"I frequently hear music in the very heart of noise."

– George Gershwin, 1931

* * *

_I remember…_

…catching fleeting glimpses of the night sky above me – how the dark, threatening clouds steadily rolled in, blotting out the meager light from the moon and the stars. I could smell the rain in the air, I could sense the heaviness of the storm that was about the break – but I was powerless to stop it.

_I remember…_

concentrating, continuing my steady pace in the sea. My clothes were heavy and cumbersome, but I could not shed them without a struggle. The saltiness of the water stung me – my eyes, my hands, my feet, every patch of exposed skin rubbed raw from the hours of struggle to reach land. My muscles screamed in agony, my joints locking and seizing with every kick and stroke, but still, I continued.

I had to be strong.

I had to keep going.

I was almost there…

_I remember…_

…that first streak of lightning hurtling across the sky, followed closely by a clap of thunder that promised serious return. The ocean began to swirl violently around me, its waves climbing up and crashing over me. The rip current developed in an instant, pulling at my legs, dragging me down into the murderous depths below. I fought it with all of my might, gasping for breath even as my head sank beneath the surface.

_I remember…_

…thinking: this was the wrong ending.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Sango, we've got a fresh one for ya!"

Sango looked up from her paperwork, unable to resist rolling her eyes heavenward when she realized who had called out to her.

"Just put it right there," she directed, pointing to the table behind her as her gaze fell back to her desk. She shuffled through the mountains of paperwork that littered its surface, deliberately keeping her eyes lowered, hoping against hope that the EMTs would just follow orders, for once. It was always – _trying –_ to deal with the more immature members of the medical staff, of which these two were prime examples. As the junior medical examiner on staff at the hospital, she usually worked days, which mercifully meant missing the adrenaline junkies who populated the graveyard shifts.

Not tonight, however.

It appeared her avoidance tactic was all for naught; when she chanced to look up again, she noticed one of the paramedics gazing back at her attentively – so focused, in fact, that his partner was grousing about having to do all the work himself.

"Come on, Miroku," his comrade whined, opening the long zipper and peeling back the black vinyl that covered their latest victim. "This dude isn't just going to take _himself_ out of the bag."

"Yeah, yeah," Miroku replied, waving his hand dismissively. "In a second."

Sango's eyes dropped back to her papers, annoyance and irritation building in the pit of her stomach as she heard his footsteps draw closer. He'd been after her for months, hanging around between shifts, always trying to angle some way to score a date with her. She had little patience for his flirty tactics, but couldn't seem to dissuade his pursuit.

"It's the first one of the night, yeah?" Miroku asked, by way of salutation. "How many do you suppose you'll get, what with it being Halloween and all?"

_Hopefully none_, Sango thought, working to contain her aggravation. _I don't think I could stand having the "pleasure" of your company more than once tonight._ "I don't know," she managed to answer, her tone cool and noncommittal, as she scratched a few notes at the bottom of the chart in front of her.

"Hey, thanks for all your help there, Miroku," his partner called sarcastically from across the room.

Miroku shot him a winning smile. "That's what all those hours at the gym are for, right, man?" he returned cheerfully, for which he earned a dark look in response.

"Anyway," he redirected, turning back to Sango, leaning forward and planting a hand on her desk. "What are the chances that we could stick around and watch you cut this one up?"

Sango cut an unimpressed, dismissive glare up at him. "Not good," she informed him pointedly. "I probably won't even get to him tonight," she added, indicating the mounds of paperwork strewn across her desk. Her colleague, five years her senior on the job, had some long-held, unnatural fear of working on the last days of October. He was so loud and rabid about it – claiming that supernatural forces came out to play on All Hallow's Eve and wreaked havoc and destruction in their wake – that he was automatically granted two days' vacation just to shut him up.

Every. Year.

And, of course, he let their monthly paperwork pile up, knowing she'd be stuck with it the night before it was due. For as brilliant a medical examiner as he was – and there was none better in the city, perhaps even the country – he was lousy with the living, and even worse as a manager.

"That's too bad," Miroku chided, clucking his tongue, bringing her back to the present.

Sango furrowed her brow, narrowing an assessing stare at him. "Why are you suddenly so interested in this guy?" she asked, feeling very wary of any possible ulterior motives. It would be just like him to try to set up some situation in which he could swoop in and play hero, even knowing that was about the last thing she'd ever find impressive about him.

He shrugged. "Idle curiosity, I suppose," he replied. "I guess all these suicides start to look the same to you after a while. What is it about Halloween that brings out the crazies and compels them to kill themselves, or each other?"

_Hell if I know_, Sango thought, but before she could respond, the other paramedic cut into the conversation.

"Come on, man, its creepy down here," he said with a slight shudder, eyeing their surroundings dubiously. "Besides, we might get another call soon, maybe something _live_ this time."

_Yes, please_, Sango hoped, a wave of relief washing over her as the cheeky medic was swept out of her lab. _If I never have to deal with you again, it'll be too soon_. He was charming enough, she supposed, but he really wasn't her type – loud, boisterous, always wanting to be the life of the party. She much preferred the peace and quiet that came with working by herself in the morgue, with no one to answer to but the body on the slab.

As the heavy door swung back into place behind the departing paramedics, Sango turned back to her paperwork with a reluctant sigh. The dead could wait – administrative deadlines couldn't.

It was a shame, too; because she was merely the junior examiner, she didn't often have the chance to do a full autopsy by herself. It was something she missed, the feel of the instruments in her hands, making the delicate – or not so delicate – cuts, revealing the secrets of the body in order to puzzle out how or where or why that person died. Most of the time, on the day shift, she received the terminally ill who'd been convalescing upstairs in the hospital, or those who'd died in the ER, or in the OR. It had been _ages_ since she'd had a DOA – and the thought of leaving it to her lazy senior colleague really stuck in her craw.

_Oh, screw this_, she decided resolutely, closing the chart in front of her with a satisfying slam. _I'm the examiner on duty right now, and by God, I'm going to do this one!_

Before her guilty conscience could change her mind, she was on the floor and suiting up. The hospital had finally caved and invested in a state-of-the-art recording system for their use, replete with real-time video feed, digital cameras, and wireless technology. The entire process could now be documented for use as evidence, and to back up the findings reported in their official documents.

Alongside her sterile scrubs, gloves, and mask, she donned a microphone for dictation, and checked over the equipment before finally approaching the corpse. She took a slow turn around the table, taking in her first impression of the victim, trying to gauge how easy – or difficult – this case might be. She noted the date and time in her recording, adjusting the lamps overhead as she took a closer look.

The body was still fully clothed, minus shoes, though neither paramedic had bothered to stick a tag on the toe. "Thanks, guys," she muttered under her breath, picking up the chart they'd left nearby. It contained only the most cursory information – date, time, location of the pickup, and procedures performed in the field, with a 'John Doe' scribbled at the top. "A drowning victim," she noted, sparing the body a sympathetic glance.

_Poor guy_, she thought with a shake of the head, putting the chart aside. _You don't even have a name._ As a medical examiner, she knew better than to start associating the richness of a person's life with what was left of their body – going down that garden path was treacherous indeed, where emotion and bias had a dangerous habit of getting in the way of scientific objectivity.

Still, it was a little sad to think that all of her work might be for naught.

"All right, then," she said softly, reaching for the forensic camera. "I suppose the first order of business is to figure out who you are."

She took a series of pictures to start, careful to keep everything absolutely intact. "Subject is male, approximately twenty-five to thirty years old," she dictated. "Apparent drowning victim; estimated time in the water before discovery – less than twenty-four hours. The decedent is dressed in what appears to be a full tuxedo and tails, minus socks, shoes, and gloves." Delicately, she reached for the material of the suit, running her fingers under the lapel of the coat.

_That's odd_, she thought, furrowing her brow. The material was completely waterlogged, still damp to the touch, but even under such degradation, the quality of the material was obvious. Even the bowtie, a thin strip of material held in place only by virtue of a buttoned collar on the once-white shirt, was finely tailored.

On a whim, Sango ran her fingers along the inside of the shirt collar, before doing the same on the inside of the jacket. "Clothing appears altered," she observed, withdrawing her hand. "Tags have been removed from shirt, jacket…" A quick check of the waistband of the pants confirmed her suspicions. "…and trousers."

She took a step back, turning her attention to the next table over, where the paramedics had left the bag of personal effects. With great care, she lay out what few items had been recovered, and took pictures of them. "Subject was found without wallet or personal jewelry," she noted.

_It seems he doesn't want to be identified easily,_ she mused. _Well, if it comes down to it, there are always dental records and DNA…_

Setting aside the camera, she began to undress the body with meticulous precision. _It'd be such a shame to cut these clothes,_ she thought, tugging the buttons of the shirt free._ I haven't seen such finery in a very long time._ Normally, she wasn't one to really care how a body was dressed at the point of death, but it seemed more important now: these were some of the only clues immediately on hand for identification. Records and tests could take months to confirm.

With some delicate wrangling, she managed to pull the clothing from the body without having to take the scissors to it. She took another careful turn around the table with her camera. "Subject is a white male, with silvery or grayish hair," she noted with interest. A quick check of his scalp only further roused her curiosity. "It appears this is the natural hair color, in spite of his age of appearance."

She carefully opened his eyes, struggling with the camera in order to take a picture. "The eyes are – golden in color, the whites bloodshot but not jaundiced," she murmured. A shudder swept through her as she closed the eyes once more – how very unusual! Along with his pale, nearly translucent skin, this body was definitely on the creepier side – and she'd cut up her fair share of cadavers.

"Noted lacerations on the face: temples, cheekbones, and jaw, as well as the neck and shoulders," she dictated, carefully turning the body up on one side to determine the extent of his injuries. "Bruising around the neck and shoulders, consistent with a struggle."

She laid the body supine once more, continuing her notation as she moved down the length of it and back. "Subject has no apparent body modifications or healed scars."

Satisfied that she had examined everything thoroughly thus far into the procedure, she traded her camera for a scalpel, garnered from her nearby table of tools. "First incision will be lengthwise along the torso," she stated into her mic, positioning the knife at the apex of the chest. She was two millimeters from the skin when it happened.

The corpse breathed.

"Holy shit," she gasped, pulling back. She stared at the body for a long moment, her heart pounding in her ears as she blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to clear her field of vision. _Goddammit, get a hold of yourself_, she chastised. _Obviously it's been way too long since you've done this by yourself…fucking Halloween…_

Convinced that it had been only a nervous hallucination, she once again stepped forward, raising her hand, knife aloft, ready to commit to the cut.

Not only did the body on the table breathe, but it tried to _speak_.

Sango dropped the blade and backed away slowly. _If this is somebody's idea of a sick joke –_ she thought wildly, eyes widening as the supposedly-dead body moved again, twisting to one side and attempting to hoist himself upright.

"Who are you?" she blurted out, backing into the tiled wall of the morgue. Perhaps identifying him would go a long way in catching whoever set this up. _If that stupid fucking Miroku is behind all this, I'll – _

The man didn't look at her, much less answer. After a moment, she steeled her spine and pressed herself forward once more. "Tell me who you are, and who put you up to this," she demanded, reaching for his shoulder.

His hand met her wrist before she could touch him, but still, he didn't look at her. His grip was weak and defensive, his fingers cold and clammy against her skin.

After a moment, Sango began to pull away. "Come on, this isn't funny," she huffed, struggling to control the panic that was rising fast within her. His hold on her only strengthened with each passing second. Finally, she balled her hand into a fist and tugged with all her might, breaking free of his grasp.

She screamed as he fell back, landing on the metal table with a sickening _thud_.


	3. Chapter 3

**CONFIDENTAL INFORMATION**

**Tōkyō Ika Daigaku – University Hospital**

**Clinical Assessment**

**Psychiatry (Inpatient)**

NAME: _daredare_ だれだれ

DATE: 07 November 2005

CASE: #009572650-7748

**IDENTIFYING INFORMATION**

DOB/AGE: Unknown, age approximately 25 (born 1980)

GENDER: Male

RACE: Caucasian (non-Asian)

MARITAL STATUS: Unknown

ADDRESS: Unknown; currently residing at C6-25 in seclusion (safety measure)

PHONE: 8-7724 (hospital)

INSURANCE: None

LIVING SITUATION: Previous living situation unknown at this time; non-native

SIGNIFICANT OTHER (CONTACT PERSON): Unknown; medical decision makers = primary care team

**CURRENT SYMPTOMS**

DEPRESSION: (+) decreased interest, (+) loss of energy, (+) agitation, history unknown

SUICIDAL/HOMICIDAL: (?) SI/plan/intent/attempt, no known HI

MANIA: (+) sleeplessness, (+) distractibility, (+) agitation, history unknown

ANXIETY: (?) re-experiencing traumatic event, (+) recurrent thoughts/activities

_Possible/probable, as patient is currently engaged in impulsive, repetitive drawing_

PSYCHOSIS: (+) suspiciousness/paranoia, (+) social withdrawal; history unknown

ORGANIC: (+) confusion, (+) memory loss, (+) disorientation x2

_Patient survived attempted drowning; current symptoms possibly related to post-event trauma_

SOMATIZATION: N/A

**SUBSTANCE ABUSE HISTORY**

ETOH: Unknown

HEROIN: Unknown

MARIJUANA: Unknown

COCAINE: Unknown

HALLUCINOGENS: Unknown

CAFFEINE: Unknown

TOBACCO: Unknown

DOES PATIENT HAVE PROBLEM WITH SA? Unknown at this time; UDS negative (repeat x 3 – in ER, ICU, step-down, and inpatient unit)

**MEDICAL HISTORY**

DATE/LOCATION OF LAST PHYSICAL EXAM: 07 November 2005, Ward C6 Room 25

REVIEW OF SYMPTOMS: (+) anemia, (+) hypotension; all other systems negative

SURGICAL HISTORY: Unknown; physical did not yield evidence of procedures prior to this hospitalization

TRAUMA HISTORY: Attempted drowning, 31 October 2005

ALLERGIES: NKDA

CURRENT MEDICATIONS: (+) metabolic supplements (PO; IV discontinued in step-down unit)

**PSYCHIATRIC HISTORY**

PRIOR INPATIENT HOSPITALIZATIONS (PLEASE SPECIFY): Unknown

DATE/LOCATION OF FIRST HOSPITALIZATION: Unknown

SYMPTOMS AT TIME OF FIRST HOSPITALIZATION: Unknown

SUBJECTIVE – HELPFUL TREATMENTS: Unknown (possibly none)

PSYCHIATRIC MEDICATION HISTORY: Unknown (possibly none)

ADVERSE REACTIONS TO PSYCHIATRIC MEDICATIONS: Unknown (possibly none)

**FAMILY/SOCIAL HISTORY**

# OF YEARS OF EDUCATION: high school graduate (possibly college graduate)

SPECIAL TRAINING: current/past student at music conservatory

VOCATIONAL HISTORY: Unknown

PREVIOUS INCOME SUPPORT: Family support (presumed)

MILITARY HISTORY: Unknown

LEGAL HISTORY: Non-native to Japan; no known legal history in this country

RELIGION: None; patient has been visited by every religious affiliation at the hospital but has shown little to no interest in any of them

RECREATION: drawing, playing piano

FAMILY PSYCHIATRIC HISTORY: Unknown

# OF BROTHERS / # OF SISTERS: 1 brother

BIRTH ORDER: (?) of 2

RELATIONSHIP WITH SIBLINGS: Unknown

RELATIONSHIP WITH MOTHER: Unknown

RELATIONSHIP WITH FATHER: Unknown

HISTORY OF ABUSE (PHYSICAL/SEXUAL): Unknown/ unlikely (physical exam/questioning unrevealing)

SUBJECTIVE – CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCE: "Good"

SUBJECTIVE – ADOLSCENT EXPERIENCE: "Pressured"

SUBJECTIVE – SCHOOL PERFORMANCE: "Good"

SUBJECTIVE – ADULT EXPERIENCE: Unknown/no answer _(extension of adolescence – resident's opinion)_

CURRENT FRIENDSHIPS: Unknown

CURRENT ACTIVITIES: art, music (piano)

# OF MARRIAGES/LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIPS: Unknown

# OF CHILDREN (AGES): Unknown

CURRENT RELATIONSHIP WITH CHILDREN: Unknown

**MENTAL STATUS EXAM**

APPEARANCE: (+) clean _(dressed in hospital gown, sitting upright in bed)_

DEMEANOR: (+) distant, (+) guarded

SPEECH: (+) latency

MOTOR: Normal

AFFECT: (+) flat/blunted, (+) constricted _(appears emotionless, even when speaking)_

THOUGHT PROCESS: (+) goal-directed, (+) concrete vs abstract capacity

THOUGHT CONTENT: (?) SI/intent/plan, (?) obsessive thoughts_ (no AH/VH or evidence of delusions)_

COGNITIVE FUNCTIONING: oriented x 2 _(place, time)_, (+) decreased memory, (+) decreased concentration

OTHER MSE FINDINGS: _Appropriate intelligence, MMSE = 27/30 (failed long-term memory task), has capacity to make decisions, but is still under the authority of his primary care team from the Hospitalist service_

**CHIEF COMPLAINT**

Mute, disoriented, possibly dissociative patient found down after attempted drowning, with no memory of events prior to this hospitalization. Inpatient Psychiatry was consulted during ICU stay for evaluation of SI intent/plan/attempt, as well as possible psychological trauma prior to this hospitalization (if this wasn't an SI event). Psychiatry agreed to transfer this patient to their service once medically cleared.

HEIGHT: 193 cm

WEIGHT: 68 kg

BP: 99/60

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS/MEDICAL DECISION MAKING:

This is an approximately 25-year-old Caucasian male (non-Asian descent) with unknown PMH who was found down on 31 October 2005 after attempted drowning. Patient was originally thought to be deceased, but spontaneously revived upon examination by hospital coroner. Patient was then transferred to ER for physical exam and standard work-up, mindful of possible trauma related to his attempted drowning. He was found to be hypoxic, anemic, and hypotensive, prompting transfer to ICU under the supervision of the Pulmonary service.

Patient's stay in the ICU was remarkable for pressor support (x3) over 3 days, with 2 successful transfusions of FPP/RBC. Patient was intubated 31 October 2005 in ER for failure to protect airway and extubated on 4 November 2005 following repeat chest x-rays that ruled out pneumonia. Patient was pancultured x 3, all with negative growth, and thus, was never on antibiotic/antifungal/antimicrobial therapy. Once hemodynamically stable & pulmonary edema resolved, he was cleared for transfer to pulmonary step-down unit until a bed was available in psychiatric unit.

While in the ICU, patient was taken for CT head (w/wo contrast), abdomen/pelvis (wo contrast) and US abdomen; all tests returned unremarkable, suggesting no previous physical trauma prior to drowning event. Patient also received an MRI brain (w/wo contrast), and completed an EEG study with the Neurology service, with similarly unrevealing findings. There was no evidence of prior/current seizure activity or long-term damage to the brain. It seems unlikely that his continued memory deficits are related to any head trauma.

Attempts to discover this patient's identity have been futile. He was found down with no identification, and appears to have no memory of who he is, where he came from, or why he is currently in Japan. All medical decisions made on his behalf were consented via two-physician protocol, following a hearing with the hospital ethics committee. Given the unusual nature of his case, further measures have been taken to insure patient's safety while his status as an inpatient.

IMPRESSION & PLAN:

Patient presents today with clean appearance (dressed in hospital gown), distant demeanor, flat/blunted/constricted affect, goal-directed thought processes, decreased memory, decreased concentration, appears alert, bright, and oriented x 2 (time and place). Patient mostly communicated with this writer via head nods or shakes, with the occasional noncommittal monosyllabic answer. Patient is distant, guarded, with poor eye contact, but is mindful of hospital staff and fellow patients.

Patient has unusual physical appearance – silver/gray hair and golden-colored eyes – which appears natural; he is also underweight for his height, though he has gained 3 kg during the course of his hospital stay (input/output net negative). All injuries sustained – scarring, bruising, lacerations to head, neck, shoulders, hands, feet – are consistent with attempted drowning; there were no other physical indications suggestive of unusual corporeal or sexual trauma. Neurological exams performed upon admission were unremarkable for brain tumor, concussion, abnormalities, or any other sort of head trauma.

Patient is positive for some situational anxiety and depression, but there is no evidence of psychosis, severe depression, severe anxiety, or mania. Unclear whether patient attempted to take his own life, or almost drowned as a result of an accident – he offers no memory of the incident or the days/weeks leading up to it. Patient recalls only very basic information about his background, but seems to have no sense of self-identity.

Original physical examination in ER was suggestive of deep water drowning; his body was cold (but not bloated) when he was found down, which is consistent with oceanic temperatures this time of year. It is thought that he was under water for less than 24 hours prior to discovery, as it takes 3-5 days for a body to sink and rise back to the surface at this time of year. He was wearing a full tuxedo and tails, sans shoes, with the tags cut out of all articles of clothing.

Results of extensive cognitive testing have revealed a general wealth of knowledge and highly advanced vocabulary, suggestive of higher education. No abnormalities in the larynx were found during intubation/extubation procedures, leaving us with the impression that he is selectively mute. Because of this, he was given a paper and pencil in order to communicate. Instead of writing, he began to draw musical instruments in some detail, with a particular precision focus on grand pianos, suggesting extensive knowledge of, or experience playing, said instrument.

Impression: Dissociative amnesia, related to recent attempted drowning, r/o PTSD.

Plan:

– admit to Inpatient Psychiatry service

– Nutrition following; appreciate their continued recommendations

– begin art therapy, music therapy, cognitive restructuring therapy; we will go with his strengths and see where he leads us – please allow free use of the music room whenever possible

– no acute indication for medication at this time

– monitor for safety (Level III – Rivers protocol)

– medical decision-making: Drs Higurashi & Mushin (Psychiatry) will assume responsibility from his primary care team (Hospitalist)

STATUS: Full code

Higurashi Kagome, MD, R4-Psychiatry

Mushin Masao, MD, Psychiatry Attending

ELECTRONICALLY SIGNED ON: 07 November 2005


	4. Chapter 4

**The dead walk among us!**

_What other secrets are hidden behind the walls of TMU?_

SPECIAL REPORT for YUKAN FUJI

10 November 2005

The best and brightest at Tokyo Medical University's hospital are harboring a secret – literally.

On Halloween night, an unidentified man was brought to the hospital, the victim of an apparent drowning. He was left in the morgue with the other unfortunate souls who had surrendered their lives that week, but there was one key difference between this mystery man and all of the others:

He came back to life.

"It gave the medical examiner quite a scare," noted a source close to the case, who has not been authorized to officially speak on behalf of the hospital. "It was thought to have been a prank at first, albeit not a very funny one."

From the cold slab of the morgue, the mystery man was trundled off into the recesses of the intensive care unit before being dispatched to one of the other wards, all the while under heavily armed guard. No one knows his name, his nationality, or how or why he came to end up on the shores of the Tokyo Bay.

So why the sudden interest from the hospital's security force?

Sources within the hospital's administration declined to comment.

Still, slowly but surely, details about the cryptic case are beginning to trickle out. The man is still alive, our sources confirm. He is of unusual coloring, leading most to believe that he is not of Japanese heritage (or, indeed, of any known Asiatic ancestry). He is apparently obsessed with pianos, and has earned the nickname "Piano Man" by those in charge of his care.

And, allegedly, the man knows just as little about himself as any of the expert doctors on staff at Tokyo's most prestigious hospital.

So just how do they expect to uncover his identity, then?

"Law enforcement hasn't been brought in on the case," a confidential source close to the case confided. "It appears his doctors – and the hospital administration – are content to leave him as an unknown entity, even unto himself."

So we're left to wonder why – why is there such an intense interest in this mysterious man's case, and why such a campaign to keep details of it from the public? What other secrets are hiding behind the walls of the university and its hospital?

This is not the first time TMU – or the medical establishment in all – has become embroiled in scandal.

_How many of these cases do you, dear readers, recall?_

*In the early 1980s, the Ministry of Health & Welfare was forced to launch a full-scale investigation of the national medical system after receiving numerous reports of unlicensed doctors running clinics, performing surgeries, and dispensing unnecessary and potentially hazardous drugs to their patients in order to collect insurance payments. This, of course, followed the bribery schemes at the medical schools, in which families could place one or more of their children in courses after paying large sums of money to the administrations of those schools – perhaps some of these unlicensed professionals were the ones who couldn't afford to pay above and beyond the tuition?

*The massive HIV-tainted blood scandal, the repercussions of which still reverberate in society today. How can we forget those 1,500 hemophiliacs, who were infected with the virus that causes AIDS after receiving unsterilized blood products, which their doctors and physicians knew were dangerous, even when safer alternatives were available. In 2000, three pharmaceutical executives were sentenced to prison terms for their negligence – and not even their cushy positions within the government could save them from that fate. Even so, it was too little, too late for those families of the victims who died from complications related to their transfusions.

*The Yokogawa Medical scandal in the early 1990s proved that bribery and university medicine were still hand in hand, when reps from the company were banned from university hospitals after plying those professors in charge of buying medical equipment with cash and gifts in order to boost sales.

So, who knows who could be greasing the hands at TMU this time around, in order to keep this once-dead man so carefully hidden from public view? Your intrepid reporter will not rest until the truth is out, and any secrets and lies the hospital administration seem so adamant to protect are revealed!


	5. Chapter 5

The hospital administrator stood at the fore of the conference room, glaring imperiously down the slope of his nose at the clutch of people gathered in the small space. The room was packed wall-to-wall with medical personnel, the low din of their shared conversation rankling along his very last nerve.

_This is the problem with modern medical care_, he mused to himself, sweeping his judgmental stare over each person in turn. _There are too many weak links in the chain_.

He curled his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the conference table. "Order," he commandeered haughtily, taking no small amount of pleasure at startling the lot of them.

The room quieted in an instant, thirty sets of eyes coming to rest on him – some curious, some excited, some anxious.

He drew out the silence to the edge of trepidation, feeding off the fear that radiated from his subordinates.

"You're all aware of the reason for this meeting," he finally said, holding up the previous day's issue of _Yukan Fuji_, the right-leaning rag of a tabloid.

Almost immediately, half of those gathered averted their eyes; the room was utterly silent, save a bit of restless squirming.

His eyes swept the room again as he zeroed in on the two most likely sources of information. "Do you find this amusing, Watanabe?" he intoned, spearing the young paramedic with a pointed look.

The blood drained from Miroku's face. "No," he returned forcefully, perhaps a bit louder than he'd intended. "I don't know who leaked to the press about this, but that was definitely not cool."

The hospital administrator granted him a cold smile as he walked around the table, coming to an abrupt halt when he towered over the younger man. "I daresay that you're our most likely suspect," he mused, "considering that you and your partner-in-crime here are the only two people in this room not employed by the hospital – and thus, not bound by its nondisclosure/confidentiality agreement."

Miroku's fellow paramedic glowered in response, shooting to his feet in his friend's defense. "It wasn't us," he growled defiantly. "We weren't even here with the dead guy came back to life!"

The hospital administrator merely smirked in response, his gaze as cool and calm as his rival's was heated. This kid was a known hothead, and it was rather enjoyable to provoke him.

Miroku was fast on his friend's heels, clasping Inuyasha's shoulders and shoving him back into his seat. "Besides," he cut in smoothly, "we wouldn't have wanted to have frightened my dear Sango like that."

The hospital administrator cast a curious glance to the junior medical examiner sitting across the way, catching her thunderous expression as she glared at the flirtatious medic. "Maybe if you'd _done your job_, none of this would've happened," she shot back. "Did you even _try_ to resuscitate him in the field?"

"_Yes_," Inuyasha grunted indignantly. "We always follow procedure."

Sango rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. "Could've fooled me," she muttered.

"Enough," the hospital administrator bit off. Though he found this heated exchange amusing, it was detracting from the point at hand. He turned his attention back to the paramedics. Even if they weren't the root of this little scandal, they were the most easily disposed of – and narrowing the field of suspects would be helpful enough.

"I have terminated the hospital's contract with your company," he informed them, his tone rather bland. "Your services are no longer required. You may leave."

He took a step back in what he considered to be a generous gesture, clearing the path to the door of the conference room.

The two of them didn't move, however – they could only stare at him, totally dumbfounded over their dismissal.

He loathed people who did that. Why did they have to be told twice?

"Leave," he commanded darkly, turning on his heel and advancing back to his position at the head of the table. By the time he faced his captivated audience again, the paramedics were gone, their formerly-occupied chairs vacated, the door to the conference room swinging heavily back into its frame behind them.

He turned his dour expression back to the crowd at large. "If any of you contributed any information to this foul gossip columnist, I expect to find your resignation on my desk," he informed them as he lowered himself into the chairman's seat at the head of the table. "Today."

That set off another round of restless fidgeting and worried murmurs; he was content, for the moment, to let them stew. If they hadn't already learned of the price to be paid for a breach of this magnitude, then let them all think they could be unemployed within the hour.

It was rather amazing what a bit of incentive could do for cooperation among the plebeians.

"Excuse me?"

A voice rose above the low din of conversation. When he looked up, he realized it was accompanied by a hand. "Excuse me, Takahashi-buchō, but what we will do now?"

The hospital administrator felt his expression soften as he realized who had garnered his attention. Among the ICU nurses sat a slender girl with big brown eyes and chestnut-colored hair, gazing at him intently even as the charge nurse forced her arm back into her lap with a look of admonishment. Rin, he believed her name was – a pretty little thing, a recent hire who, for some reason, stuck out in his mind.

Perhaps this was why – her fearlessness in questioning authority.

He felt inclined to indulge her. "We will use the press to our advantage," he replied. "The hospital security team has informed the police of our situation, and they have suggested that we provide a picture of the patient to a reputable publication." He reached for the tabloid at his side, balling it between his hands, and pitched it into a nearby wastebasket. "Perhaps then someone will come forward and identify him."

His answer might have satisfied the curious little nurse, but it did not sit so well with others in the room.

"I object," came a voice from his left, the table rocking slightly as one of the doctors shot to her feet. "He isn't ready for media scrutiny, of _any _kind."

The hospital administrator lifted an amused brow as he regarded her, but did not deign to respond to her outburst. Instead, he turned his attention to the older gentleman at her side, who was tugging on her arm and quietly imploring her to retake her seat.

"I suggest you keep your residents in hand, Dr. Mushin," he warned in an ominous tone.

"Higurashi-san, please," old Mushin grunted, finally convincing his fellow doctor to sit down. "Takahashi-buchō is right; there is no other way. His DNA hasn't matched anyone in the national database, and neither have his fingerprints or dental records."

Dr. Higurashi shook her head. "This isn't a good idea," she pressed. "We both know he's been through something horrific – and what is our oath? 'First, do no harm'?"

Mushin patted her hand sympathetically. "If he's not going to tell us who he is, we're going to have to find out some other way," he reasoned gently. "He can't stay here forever – at least, if we find his family, they can arrange for his care."

"We are not in the business of taking in every stray that crosses our path, Dr. Higurashi," the hospital administrator broke in. "If you don't care for our plan to uncover this young man's identity, then you are free to seek employment elsewhere."

He watched her closely as he leaned back in his seat. She opened her mouth as if to speak before thinking better of it, snapping her jaw closed, curling her hands into her lap and leveling a defiant stare at him.

He had the distinct feeling this wasn't the last he'd heard about this from Dr. Kagome Higurashi.


	6. Chapter 6

[Edited to correct composer name]

**Update 2: A Rush to Identify Mysterious "Piano Man"**

_The newest hope: a handwritten score_

15 November 2005, 16:49

TOKYO (Reuters) – Hope has been renewed in the ongoing mystery of the "Piano Man," the virtuoso pianist who washed ashore nearly a month ago. The man first gained infamy among the staff at Tokyo Medical University when he spontaneously revived on the autopsy table in the morgue at University Hospital. A confidential source close to the case has confirmed that the patient had been classified as dead on arrival, as well as confirming reports of his seeming lack of pulse or respiration. "The medical examiner suffered quite a shock," the source revealed on the condition of anonymity, as no one has been cleared by the hospital's administration to discuss the case publicly.

The patient was subsequently admitted to the hospital and treated for his injuries before being transferred to the psychiatric ward. Complicating the search for his identity has been his own steadfast refusal to speak or otherwise communicate with hospital staff, leading at least one doctor to speculate that he has been the victim of trauma. When given a piece of paper and pen, in hopes that he would feel comfortable enough to share information indirectly with them, he instead drew the perfect rendition of a grand piano.

Upon seeing this, psychologists on staff took him to the ward's music room, again hoping to break his silence. Instead of speaking, however, the man sat at the instrument and began to play, an impromptu concert that lasted for several hours. It reportedly consisted of works from all major composers of the Western canon, suggesting an intimate familiarity with the material and earning him the nickname "Piano Man."

"It was absolutely breathtaking," one nurse exclaimed. "To see this man 'wake up' from his torturous silence, even if just for a short while, was truly nothing short of a miracle."

"My heart bleeds for him," another staff worker agreed. "It's obvious he has suffered some ill fate, and perhaps he is all alone in the world. How difficult must it be to not even recognize yourself?"

After weeks of extensive work with a psychiatric specialist, the man has produced a handwritten musical score.

"Piano Man" is allowed four hours a day with the piano in the ward's music room, where he has reportedly strayed from his original repertoire, and is now playing the same piece of music over and over again. An examination of the neatly written sheet music produced by the patient reveals that it is a piano concerto, one attributed to Frédéric Chopin.

Copies of the score have been circulated amongst local and regional musical groups. It is hoped that someone will recognize his handwriting and come forward to identify him.

The hospital has heretofore only released a vague physical description of "Piano Man," amidst fear that he has been the victim of a criminal syndicate. Sources indicate that he has suffered from some form of continuing trauma, which has led to his mysterious muteness in spite of otherwise ongoing physical health.

A short audio recording has been made of two of his impromptu concerts, and has been sent to various orchestras around the city in hopes that someone will recognize him. "Piano Man" was allegedly found in a black tuxedo, furthering the theory that he is a professional musician. Few other clues to his identity exist beyond his exquisite piano-playing abilities.

Leading speculation among those close to the case is a theory that he is an Eastern European who traveled to the country with an orchestra for a tour. Orchestral groups in a far flung as the United Kingdom, Italy, and Germany, as well as those located in Russia and Australia, have been forwarded a copy of the score and the audio recording.

Until he is properly and correctly identified, a trust has been set up to fund his stay at the hospital. Donations may be made directly to the Tokyo Medical University's hospital bank account.

The hospital has requested anonymity for all employees involved in the case.


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Kagome Higurashi folded her arms as she gazed through the two-way mirror that ran the length of the psychiatric ward's music room. Beyond the doubled panes of Plexiglas, her now-infamous patient sat at the piano, his back ramrod straight, his head bowed, his fingers dancing across the keys with masterful precision. This was the only way he would communicate with the outside world, and she desperately wished to understand what he was telling her.

Unfortunately, these days it seemed as if she was the only one still interested in hearing what he had to say.

It had been nearly a month since his unusual arrival at their facility, and yet they were no closer to discovering who he was than they had been at the start. Between the pressure from the hospital's administration and now the added scrutiny of the media, it had become a competition amongst her fellow physicians to be the first to uncover his identity. The hospital considered him the ultimate liability; all medical personnel associated with his case believed that unlocking his brain would be their ticket to fame. It was disgusting, really, to see such snobbery and ruthlessness in action, tingeing every aspect of this patient's care.

Had they all forgotten the reason they were there in the first place?

Could they truly not see past their own blind ambition?

Kagome frowned as she regarded her patient. _Why am I the only one who cares about him?_ she wondered with frustration, tightening the brace of her arms across her chest. _Why am I the only one who seems to feel his pain, who can see how much this is torturing him?_

Over the course of the last week, he had narrowed his repertoire of the classical Western canon down to one piece, which he played over and over and over again in the same grueling manner. He would play it interminably, for hours at a time, sometimes until he was literally dragged away from the piano. He'd long since lost his audience of curious onlookers; most of the time it was only she who was there to observe him, to listen to this agonizing, repetitive, maddening song. It obviously meant something to him, that he kept playing it over and over again, but his expression was forever blank and impassive, even as he wrung such disparate emotions from his instrument.

She'd listened to it so much that she now heard it in her sleep, the music haunting her dreams. There was such anguish, such sorrow, such demanding, exacting perfection as each movement of the piece flowed into the next. Whatever was going on in his head, whatever was blocking the healing and reintegration of his identity, it had not been able to keep him from expressing such passion, such torment, such grief, and yet, such determination.

"Frédéric Chopin."

Kagome looked up sharply, feeling the entirety of her body tense as she eyed her patient. He had stopped playing, his hands hovering over the keys, his gaze locked onto the partially opened lid of the piano.

_Could it be?_ she thought, her heart beginning to thud in her chest._ Did he actually…?_

"Frédéric Chopin," he repeated, as if it was a personal revelation.

She bolted away from the mirror, her heart pounding in her ears as she edged her way through the hall. At the door of the music room, she stopped, taking a moment to breathe deeply before she crossed its threshold. She didn't want to startle him, or draw attention from any of the other medical staff lurking nearby on the ward.

She eased the door back into its frame, leaning back against it, careful to keep her eagerness at finally hearing his voice to herself. He didn't move, or turn, or indeed, acknowledge her existence at all, his focus exclusively on the exposed space between the lid and lip of the piano.

"Yes, it is Chopin," she said quietly, answering the question he hadn't asked. Her mind raced as she struggled to place the accent accompanying his words, his voice gravelly and rusted from disuse. _French? German? Italian?_

She stared at him as he sat in half-profile to her, noting the way his long, silvery hair seemed to curtain him, shielding him from her scrutiny. She hoped her silence would prompt him to speak again, giving her another chance to hear his voice.

When he didn't comply, she lifted herself away from the door, taking a tentative step towards him. "What does this piece mean to you?" she asked, slowly crossing the room to where he sat at the piano.

"Scherzo #1 in B-minor," he murmured to himself, as if he hadn't heard her. "Opus #20. Frédéric Chopin."

_Russian? Polish? Hungarian?_ "Did you have to learn this piece for a certain reason?" Kagome mused aloud, moving carefully into his field of vision, leaning back against the mirror with her hands folded beneath her. "At the conservatory, perhaps?"

He closed his eyes, still not acknowledging her presence. "Finally," he whispered, something akin to relief sweeping over his expression. "I've played it perfectly."

He curled his hands into fists, dropping them into his lap as he bowed his head, further obscuring his face from her study.

"Who are you?" she queried softly, unmoving from her position. "What's your name?"

"Finally," he whispered, so quietly she almost couldn't hear him. "It will stop torturing me."


	8. Chapter 8

_I remember…_

I've always had an affinity for the sea. I was three the first time I saw it, the sparkling waters of the ocean just beyond the white-sand surf of the Riviera. It was a beautiful deep cerulean blue, so enchanting, so inviting. I could see straight through its clear, glassy depths from my perch in my father's arms, and I wanted nothing more than to touch it, to feel its crisp coolness against my skin.

_I remember…_

…always feeling the calmest whenever I was near the sea. Mediterranean, Caspian, Crimean; Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Arctic – it didn't matter. The seductive siren's call of the ocean was always the same: enthralling, bewitching, and yet – calming, the steady rise and fall of the surf as it crested into waves, sweeping forward to meet the shore.

I loved the water.

That's why they took me away from it.

_I remember…_

…the first time I perched upon a piano bench, staring down the expanse of black and white keys in utter fascination. The moment I laid my hands upon them, striking a chord I didn't even realize was perfect, I _felt it_: like I belonged. Like I'd found my purpose in life, and at all of five years old. Something within me immediately resonated with the sounds made by my fingers on those keys, an immediate, intimate connection that went straight to my soul.

I loved it. I couldn't get enough of it. I'd play until my hands ached, until my fingers bled, until I had to be dragged away by force, kicking and screaming all the while. From the moment I awoke each morning until to the moment I went to bed each evening, all I wanted to do was play at the piano.

_I remember…_

…the feeling of the music inside me, natural and free and wild, and the way it seemed to blossom under my fingertips. It was a part of me, as innate as breathing, bursting forth almost of its own volition. I couldn't stop it, even if I'd wanted to – and I didn't. It was my power, my confidence, my confidant. It was the place where I could go to escape the chaos around me, the stress and strain of my parents' lives and our constant moving.

I loved my music.

That's why they took it away from me.

_I remember…_

…digging in my heels when they shipped me off to that conservatory, not wanting to lose what was so very precious to me. I lost it anyway, as the grand tradition of the Western classical canon was forced upon me. It tempted me, yes, and it challenged me, shaping my natural talent into something conventional, something exploitable – but it also stifled me, silencing my music, my voice, my very sense of self.

They praised me and fawned over me and boasted about my seemingly effortless ability to memorize so many difficult works, but to me, it was simply madness, a clone of my being that felt entirely foreign and invasive.

They encouraged it, because that's what they wanted.

But not me. _I_ didn't want it.

_I remember…_

…the encroachment of this madness, the demands it put on my time, my energy, my focus. It smothered me and the wildness within me, until my inner refuge – the music that had soothed me for the entirety of my life – had withered away into silence. All that was left was the madness, the empty, meaningless madness, and it filled me up like a vacant vessel, because that's all I was: a shell of myself.

I had been beaten, broken, defeated.

_I remember…_

…standing on the edge of the cliff in Sochi, looking down into the murky waters below; the bite of the salty sea air on my face, against my skin, tangling through my hair. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow towards me across the calm, glassy, unwavering ocean.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard the sea's siren call, beckoning me down into its depths, but it was the first time I'd been tempted to give in to it, if only to escape the madness that had taken up residence in my brain. Part of me wanted to dismiss it, to keep fighting for myself, to cling to the notion that I could find serenity again. Music was music, no? Isn't that what they kept telling me? Just keep playing, and playing, and playing, and playing, and maybe, one day, you'll be invited to compose your own masterpiece.

Maybe…

…but I couldn't fight it forever. The tour took us to every seaside resort on every coast, playing evening concerts in the warm, balmy air. Every stop was an enticement, every moment I spent near the sea was another moment of crumbling resolve.

_I'm sinking to the bottom of my everything that freaks me out_

_I remember…_

…the yacht we took, from Bali to Tokyo, a leisurely cruise between two resorts. I was standing at the bow, alone, my hands gripping the railing, my eyes focused on the water below. I could smell the storm in the air, I could see the restless, choppy waves beginning to form…

_Let the rain of what I feel right now come down_

…I could hear the seductive call of the sea…

_Let the waves come up and take me down_

…and I could feel the push of the madness inside me, taunting me, mocking me, terrorizing me.

_I'm treading for my life, believe me – how can I keep up this breathing?_

I just wanted it to end.

I wanted my music back – and, by extension, myself.

I had to do this. I had to break the hold the madness had over me. I had to rediscover myself, my passion, my purpose in this world.

I climbed up on the railing. I closed my eyes, hating the tears that slipped down my cheeks.

_I'm reaching for the life within me – how can one man stop his ending?_

I had to start over. This was the only way I knew how.

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…_into the ocean…end it all…_

…

I remember waking up, only to realize that the madness was still there.

I hadn't killed it – and it hadn't killed me, either.

I despaired, heartbroken over the idea of having to live with this forever. I couldn't do it. I didn't _want_ to do it. I had to find another way out.

With escape as a failure, there was only one other option: confrontation. I had to face it, head-on, to banish it from my existence.

I had to _purge_ it, one frustrating masterwork at a time, until there was nothing left but – me.

_My _music.

Myself.

* * *

"Into the Ocean" © 2006 Justin Furstenfeld [Blue October]

Inspired by a true story.

_For more information, please check out my author's notes on Dreamwidth and/or LiveJournal, both of which are linked on my profile page._


End file.
